Once Beautiful
by Great Bishop Hazel
Summary: Ryan Kuhn of Thir13en Ghost's past, told in...er...first person, yeah, first person, I can never get the persons straight.
1. Wake up

Jack Kuhn had always been a lucky man

Jack Kuhn had always been a lucky man. He was born into a very well to do family and although his marriage was arranged, it was a smart match. Ever since he and Molly McCoy were children, they enjoyed spending time together and when they were eighteen, their parents set about planning their wedding. Jack feared he would look ridiculous in his expensive black tailcoat and red necktie with his orange curly hair and large green eyes, his pale skin and his freckles. Those same freckles were adorable on Molly and he was sure she'd be lovely in her white wedding gown, a veil attached to a crown of white baby roses in her long black curls which so neatly brought out the color of her lovely blue eyes. It was Jack's worry that those beautiful eyes would be on him the entire time. However, when the day came and Jack stood at the altar, all that filled his head was the smile on Molly's face as her father, the elderly banker Nathan McCoy, walked her down the aisle towards Jack.

"You look ever so right, darling!" Molly whispered to Jack as she arrived next to him. Jack smiled a little, a happy laugh coming over his face, Molly had never grown out of her buck teeth and her nose was still rather pointy, but those flaws which might have made Jack consider any other woman plain just made Molly seem all the more beautiful since he was in love with her and not just her appearance.

"Thank you, my beauty." Jack bowed to her, but the two had to straighten up looking a little embarrassed when Father Smith cleared his throat and gave them a sharp paternal look.

"I'll be thankin' ye to avoid yer old Sunday school habits, you tae." Father Smith laughed a bit, shaking his head. "Anyhow…" He addressed the guests. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered today tae join Jack Kuhn and Molly McCoy in the bond of holy matrimony…."

The wedding went by so fast; it was the happiest day in the lives of these two privileged young socialites, when the Father said the final words "You may kiss the bride!" Jack and Molly kissed eagerly but still a simple chaste kiss on the lips as was proper for their station in society.

That night, they were moved into a beautiful and expensive manor filled with tasteful furnishings and artwork, all a wealthy young couple could ever want. Jack would begin work as a physician in his father's offices the very next day so as to make more money with which to buy Molly anything she could ever want and so it was that she wore the finest clothing and jewelry in town. What she would do without money, no one knew, for as beautiful as Molly was and as sweet and kindhearted, there was nothing between her ears but air. She was a silly girl who never used her head or had a single thought about anything like politics or the arts at all.

Jack, on the other hand, was a bit shy, but handsome and intelligent. Without Molly and her social outings, he would probably never leave his house. This was why he truly loved her, Molly was so kind to him and treated him like he was the most important person in the world and said so to everyone in the neighborhood.

Within a year of their marriage, Molly became pregnant and in December of the year eighteen hundred and eighty seven, she gave birth to a beautiful black haired blue eyed baby boy who she named Ryan. Overjoyed that she had given her husband a son, she dressed her boy in the finest baby clothes and pushed him about in the fanciest pram she could find when they were out on a stroll, sometimes she simply carried him about in her arms just to keep her little boy close to her heart. Father Smith, of course, baptized Ryan into the Protestant Church of England just as he'd baptized both Molly and Jack when they were babies.

However, with Molly and Jack out more often, showing Ryan off to the world, another man had become interested in Molly. A cruel and calculating Scotland Yard Officer even wealthier than Jack named Corvair Anderson. Anderson had a cruel idea in store for Jack and he carried this out when Ryan was only two years old. He accused Jack Kuhn of being legally insane and of committing the murders of five prostitutes. He sent Jack away to be permanently locked away in an asylum in Australia for the rest of his life.

Poor Molly had no idea what had happened and so every day she would just wait and wait for Jack to come home. She would feed and bathe her child, play with him, read to him, rock him in her arms and put him to bed everyday rarely ever leaving her window. Corvair would watch her from his home across the street every day. Molly never noticed this; she was always too busy taking care of Ryan. Eventually, though, money became tight and Molly didn't know what to do, so she kept her savings tight enough to keep her home and fine items, but in order to buy food for her growing son and herself as well, she was forced to turn to prostitution on the streets of London. Anderson had her now. He could easily have her arrested for this and so one evening he came calling.

"Oh Molly, my love…." Corvair smirked when Molly answered the door.

"Oh dear….Um….I…..I…I'm afraid you need to leave!" Molly said, trying to close the door on Corvair, however, he placed his foot between the door and the frame to stop it from closing. He pushed into the doorway, gripping the doorframe and leaning in.

"Well, my dear, I'm afraid you will owe quite a fine and a bit of jail time for your little money making venture." He sneered, grabbing Molly's shoulders and pushing her up against the wall.

Molly trembled but looked up the stairs to the gorgeous mahogany door behind which Ryan lay asleep in her cradle. She knew she had to do this for him. "Alright, Corvair…." She said, leading him into the house and up to her room. The usually regal red and gold silks and satins seemed to be dull and lusterless, the lovely French windows and the doors to the balcony seemed like eyes leering tauntingly at her. Even so, she tried to ignore it, sitting on her bed and slowly undoing her corset, Corvair refused to wait that long, though and simply grabbed a pair of sewing scissors from Molly's red silk sewing basket by the bedside, shredding the ties of her corset to pieces causing it to fall off. Molly's body beneath the corset was slightly pudgy, a symbol of her prior status in that she could afford to eat fine foods, as Corvair shredded her dress and shoved her down, Molly was slightly embarrassed for the first time about her body. She'd known when she'd been with Jack that he loved her for who she was and not for her body, but Corvair wasn't anywhere near as kind as Jack and might taunt her. He didn't despite the sprinkling of freckles over the pudgy skin and the bags under her eyes from not getting as much sleep as she used to or the fact that there was grey coming through her black hair from the stress of life without a husband.

Corvair smirked wickedly as he ran his hands over her body exploring every inch. Molly choked back tears as he felt her up, she didn't want to wake Ryan with her sobs or screams, so she just lay back and took what Corvair did to her, every painful thrust, every agonizing prod or slam. When he got off of her and left, the bed was a mess of blood and bodily fluid. Molly was ashamed and humiliated, she had defiled the bed she and Jack had once willingly and lovingly shared, she'd tarnished the love she still had for Jack and she could never be a mother to Ryan knowing how she'd betrayed his father.

In desperation, Molly threw on a robe, tears streaming down her pudgy freckled cheeks, eyes closed tightly, her face was a hideous red mess, screwed up in a hopeless wail of despair like that of a banshee as she threw open the French doors to her balcony, ran like a wild woman to the edge and threw herself off to the street below, her long white silk robe flying about her like the wings of an angel. She landed with a sickening 'KER-AACK!' as every bone in her body was broken and her large frame was bruised and ruddied with blood from the smashed vessels. Her face was a grim mask of shame as she lay there spread eagled, her limbs snapped at odd angles. Upon finding her, Corvair put on his most convincing look of sorrow claiming he had been her lover after Jack left. Because of this, he managed to assume responsibility for Ryan, taking the little boy to live with him as his own child. Poor Ryan would never know the truth about his parents. Corvair already had a story for him, a cruel mother who abandoned him and a father who left, never loving him. A story Ryan would grow up hearing from his supposedly 'loving' foster father.


	2. Good Night

Ryan Kuhn, now being a beautiful child of ten wandered the halls of his father, Corvair Anderson's, massive estate

I, now being a beautiful child of ten wandered the halls of my father, Corvair Anderson's, massive estate. my long ebon hair was tied into a ponytail with a band of gold and crimson cloth in an oriental pattern matching my robe of similar design and material. I wore it well even if the red did look strangely with my dual colored eyes, one pale blue and one reddish-brown. My porcelain pale skin shone in the moonlight breaking through the tall windows of the forlorn hallway off sides of the house. I had never disobeyed my father before, but I was curious and decided as doting and kind as my father seemed, he would never become cross and harm me, so I was about to disobey the aging constable and enter his bedroom.

My pale elegant hand reached for the crystal doorknob so slowly it was almost dreamlike. I slowly turned the knob and pressed ever so gently on the door, pushing it open, staring in wonder around the room, eyes wide in confusion. I wondered why on earth the room was as odd as it was. There was a mirror over the bed and across from it, infact there were mirrors reflecting every angle of the bed. Like an entranced youth of Greek Mythology, I slowly walked into the room, reaching out and touching the elegant mahogany chest of drawers, carved with ornate, almost real-looking pictures of things I had only heard of in dirty conversations between his father and the other Constables when they drank together. Women and men who looked like they were half goat, men and boys, men and women, men and little girls. I cringed a little and looked away. There was a cozy fire going in the corner fireplace. Over the fireplace was a portrait of Constable Anderson with a hand on my shoulder, it was done about five years ago and in the portrait, the artist had captured every little detail, my missing tooth I'd lost that week, Officer Anderson's eyes with the wrinkles and bags under them. The likeness was eerie and made me shudder a little.

"Ryan! What did I tell you about entering my private chambers!?" A stern voice barked from the shadows near the book case. The voice belonged to my father and it made me jump almost a foot in the air out of terror. "Ryan…I have always been good to you, I have never punished you, but now you have disobeyed my express wishes…." He growled, moving closer to me and backing me into a corner. "Now I will deal with you the way I dealt with your mother when she angered me…"

I whimpered, shrinking back into the blood red walled corner, eyes darting around the room. All at once what had seemed like an ordinary, if a bit odd room became nightmarish as Anderson grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me over to the bed. As I was pushed down, I looked around, the bed was a featherbed with silken wine colored sheets and pillows surrounded by mirrors and framed in hand carved mahogany. Anderson smirked as he reached under the bed, pulling up leather straps attached to it and as he did he began to strap me down onto the bed. The leather straps were tight and bit into my pale wrists and ankles reddening them. "Please stop, father! I beg you!" I pleaded and begged my father, but Anderson would have none of it and continued, peeling off the robe and pulling down the soft red silk pants I wore.

I was trembling in terror as this happened. "Please no…Please god no….."I sniffled. "Father….Why are you doing this…Don't you love me?" I sobbed as the constable began to remove his own neatly creased black uniform pants and undergarments. He then moved to straddle my slender trembling form.

"I do love you or else I wouldn't punish you, you wouldn't want to grow up a spoiled little brat would you? No, of course not. Then remember, you're a bad child and you deserve this. So shut your little mouth unless I tell you to open it and do as you're told from now on, boy." Anderson sneered, slapping my across the face.

A soft sob of humiliation and relief issued from my mouth as I released my mouth's grip on the pillow.

"Now be good and don't do it again." Anderson sneered, beginning to get dressed and undoing the straps. He waited for me to dress and then threw me into the hallway, slamming the door and locking it. I could hardly walk as I tried to get back to my own bedroom on the other side of the house. The windows seemed to leer at me like judging eyes telling me "You're a bad boy, little Ryan, and you deserved that. You're lucky to be alive after disobeying your father."

Finally, I arrived at my room, turning the crystalline doorknob and pushing open the white wooden door. My room was a lovely room with a hardwood floor and white walls, my bed was a white daybed with a soft feathered mattress and white silk sheets. A mahogany wardrobe stood in the corner and four similarly made oaken bookshelves lined my walls filled with books and drawing pads and journals. I staggered over to my bed and flopped down sobbing softly until I eventually cried myself to sleep.


	3. Even a serpent

Ryan, now fifteen, had grown sullen and cold from his childhood trauma

I, now fifteen, had grown sullen and cold from my childhood trauma. I was sent to a private academy for my education, so at least I was away from Corvair, but that didn't make things any better for me. They made them fairly similar, yet the abuse was different. I was beaten often for insolence by the teachers and had been assaulted at least once by my roommate, whom I'd managed to fend off with a swift knee to the family jewels I was very proud of that, especially since the offending ruffian didn't walk for a week afterwards, I had been most vicious, biting, kicking, scratching and eventually beating his attacker about the knees with a curtain rod, anything to avoid being assaulted again.

Most of the time, I spent my days curled up in bed hugging my knees to my chest, but sometimes, when I had to go to class, I would spend it writing ways I would get revenge on Corvair in a tiny notebook. I now knew what was done to me was wrong, and I wanted revenge. You see, I had met a few people. A two close friends and a few kind teachers who told me what had happened shouldn't have. With that knowledge, I was poised for attack when he returned home that Christmas break.

The tree was up when I returned home and so was Corvair's alcohol level. I knew what that meant. I'd be the present under Corvair's tree. However, this time, I had a little surprise for Corvair. Strapped to my thigh was a kitchen knife incase my first plan didn't work. My first plan, I reasoned, ought to take affect right after dinner. I crept into the kitchen like a clever little mouse and took out a flask of white powder. I popped off the cap and tipped it ever so gently into Corvair's drink. "Arsenic is good and quick, a truly wondrous little trick." I chuckled to myself, I never liked rhymes, but I was good at them when I wanted to be.

Then slowly, slowly enough that Corvair couldn't hear me, I snuck back into the drawing room where Corvair was asleep in his chair. "Father, is it supper time soon? I'm a bit hungry and we do have a long night ahead of us." I grinned wickedly. 'Long night…Ha! He'll be dead before he can get his prick hard.' I laughed to myself quietly.

Dinner went pleasantly enough…until Corvair began looking ill. "Oh father! Are you alright?" I asked, perfectly feigning concern. Corvair began to nod, but it was interrupted by a burst of yellow-green vomit streaked with red onto the floor. He couldn't stop, couldn't breathe. I was in heaven. But I had to feign concern still, so I bolted from the house, screaming "Help! Help! Oh! Somebody please! My father is dying! Please help!" One of Corvair's fellow officers ran into the house and knelt next to Corvair's now limp form, feeling for a pulse, the old constable announced that he was dead. I managed to feign tears as my "father" was taken from the house on a stretcher to be prepared for burial.

As I watched, when I realized I was alone, my mouth curled into a smile and I leapt for joy. I was free. No more humiliation or pain! No more torture! No more lying beneath someone three times my age and hoping it would stop. I was safe and nothing could ever harm me again as far as I was concerned.

The house was bequeathed to me and became a place of splendor and amazing parties with the most influential people in London. That was where I met Gareth. Gareth Bigby, a man only a few years older than me and very fascinating. Gareth was mildly deformed around his face and people shunned him as a monster, however, he was always invited to my extravagant parties and was always the only person I would talk to…After I spent a little time with a lady of the night who never seemed to come back downstairs. Oddly, I never smelled of sex either. Gareth was the only one who was fairly certain of what was happening. No one else seemed to care or notice the odd occurrences, even when bodies were found outside the manor.

Certainly no one would really care if a few prostitutes went missing, Gareth had reasoned and besides, I was always kind to him and was very handsome.


	4. Damned for all time

"Ryan…If you were ever to be caught, what would I do…

"Ryan…If you were ever to be caught, what would I do…." Gareth said softly to himself as he watched me dance half-heartedly with some woman. Gareth was sure I had feelings for him and that this was just a façade to keep up appearances with those snooty bastards who spurned Gareth every day and almost drove him to murder. But I kept Gareth from going completely mad. My love and trust for Gareth, even hidden as it was, was absolutely pure and doubtless to the young man. Little did he know what I was REALLY planning. Had he known that, he never would have believed I loved him. Poor simple Gareth, he may have been a few years my senior, but he was no where near as smart as I. The poor man…But I felt so bad after what happened. He wanted me so badly and that was why I gave myself to him, but soon after, I did something quite cruel. Let this short chapter in my life be my confessional to you the audience. You need to hear this if you still fancy me the hero of this story. I'm just as bad as Corvair but in a worse way. At least Corvair is gutterscum outright. No silly little fake innocence and naïveté that I feign at every turn. I too am scum….Trash….Blooded hands unworthy to touch even a fucking street whore like the ones I gutted like the pigs they were in my bedroom each night.

One evening, I brought home no whore, only Gareth. Gareth came over to me and kissed me passionately, a kiss I returned and we fell into bed, I crashed into his arms, all resistance was gone from me and I was in love. I suddenly regretted what would happen when we were done…But I wanted it more than the love, more than the acceptance, more than the fuck. I had to kill someone tonight and it had to be the only person who made me feel weak and like a fucking dirty whore.

Gareth finally finished and lifted me, placing me next to him and leaning in for a kiss, which I gladly and lovingly gave him. However, I asked him to get up and to come to the window with me after that and that was when I pushed him. Out the window he fell, silent, hurt. That was worse than if he'd screamed or cursed my name. I almost wished he had hated me. No! No! I was strong, I cleaned up and called the police. I told them it was rape and they listened, calling it self defense. The fools weren't even curious about how it was that all these people…Gareth, Anderson, the whores…all died in my presence. Maybe the dumb pathetic imbeciles thought I was simply cursed…Maybe that was it. I laughed a little at the prospect of this ludicrous idea.

I felt a heavy weight in my heart however. I could not escape my love for Gareth and that was when I knew I had to run away. I hopped the first boat to America. As soon as I arrived, I simply flashed a wad of cash I had transferred to dollars at the bank, immediately I was set with a mansion, two wonderful servants and anything I could want. My servants, old Hildegard and old Stefan, her husband. I gave them a generous salary and fine clothes as well as the lovely guest house of my manor. I had no need for guests and the servants quarters were deplorable.

At any rate, I was out one night, my bloodlust needing to be quenched and as I killed my quarry for the night, I heard a sound of amazement and turned around only to find a small girl. Her name, she told me, was little Elena and she was an orphan. I made up my mind that I needed a successor and that was when I adopted the girl. She was just like me as a child, but she'd have a far less disturbing upbringing, I vowed.

I set up a lovely little room for Elena and gave her that entire side of the house. She was allowed anywhere at all, free reign. Any child would die for a house like this one, but Elena wouldn't have to. All she would have to do was follow in my footsteps as a sort of…Jacqueline The Ripper, if you will. I knew she would do beautifully and I was so proud of her.

Elena liked to watch me kill the whores I would bring home. 'I never wanna be like one 'a them ladies.' She'd spit as she polished her own little knife, a birthday gift I'd given her a while ago, she was twelve now. I, however, began to feel a bit guilty….I was teaching a little girl to kill and I had killed the man I loved, what was I becoming? As I thought this, Elena went up to bed and Hildegarde came over, draping a blanket over my shoulders. "Ryan, dearie, don't fret so, it's time you went off to bed." Hildegarde said softly, taking me by the arm and chiding Stefan to take the other. They brought me upstairs and tucked me into bed, each saying goodnight with a kiss on the forehead and leaving. "Like the little boy we never 'ad." Hildegard said to Stefan as they left the room. I was proud, I finally had a family…


	5. You've come home

Ryan didn't say anything at parties, but he truly hated it in America

I didn't say anything at parties, but I truly hated it in America. All the people there seemed to talk about me behind my back and treat me with disdain. The women said I was too quiet and it was strange, the men said I was obnoxious and thought myself superior to them. In truth I didn't speak to the women as I considered them all whores of one kind or another and I WAS superior to all the men.

The women didn't think I knew, but I DID. They were all just like her, the mother who abandoned me. The fucking dirty useless whore. I always hated her, in retrospect, it may have been bad to believe Corvair Anderson, but in this case, I was sure he was right. The whore abandoned me. Why else would she not have been there for me? It was clear to me what she did. And as to the men to whom I was so superior, they were all fawning over these common street walking tramps. It was truly pathetic to watch. I almost vomited seeing them dance together, laughing and kissing, slobbering like animals over one another. Only I saw them as the beasts they were. Cruel, self-righteous, narrow minded, pathetic. I laughed at them.

Unlike the other baser men of America, I took no woman to my bed, they came to my room, certainly, but they never got further than the upstairs window before I strangled them or stabbed them, poured alcohol down their throats, pushing their corpses out the window so it would seem they drank too much and simply fell out. Truly my depravity was increasing….and I loved it.

The night I walked a young lady home, she looked just as my mother had in the paintings I'd seen in Corvair's house. Long black curls, deep eloquent brown eyes, freckles and a creamy pale complexion. She had to die…and Elena was going to be the one to do it this time. I brought the girl home, despite my disgust, I brought her over to the bed, and I lay her down, kneeling on her legs and holding her arms still. Elena snuck up behind her with my straight razor I usually shaved with in the mornings. A bit unorthodox as I usually used a dagger or a kitchen knife, but I didn't call her on it, my little cub was stalking and must be allowed to do as she liked. Elena's curtain of long stringy black hair hung over her face as she leaned down over the victim, her wide blue eyes narrowing coldly as she raised the razor. The woman barely had time to scream as Elena swiped the razor across the woman's throat as a lion cub does its tiny practice prey.

"Elena, I'm so proud of you, but a little critique if I may?" I said, shaking her little hand. I never hugged my child, such things brought back too many horrible memories and I didn't wish to relive them.

"You may, father." Elena replied, bowing jokingly to me.

"You mustn't use a straight razor; see how the cut goes across the throat? Now we have to destroy the body and there may be questions because falling out a window would not make a cut like that. But you're only beginning, come, let's dispose of this body." I grinned, dragging the body down to the fireplace and throwing it in.

Little did I know that there was somebody watching our work through the window, someone who'd been watching me a long, long time. He was standing out there in the dark in a long black coat, a red scarf and a long top hat. I thought I saw something a few times, but he was always gone in an instant and I never saw him completely. I didn't even know who or what he could possibly be until one evening I saw him standing across the street from me, his long white hair was a wreck and he had bags under his eyes and a worn face. He looked only about forty. What could turn a man's hair white at forty?

"Ryan…." He said, walking towards me with his arms open. "It's me, Jack Kuhn…."

"Kuhn?" I asked. Why, that was my last name, I knew what he was about to say, but I waited for him to speak.

"Ryan, I'm your father, your real father…" He moved closer.


	6. For Good

"No fucking way. Fuck off. Too personal, asshole!" I shook my head, backing away. "My last father fucked me over in so many ways; you'll just do the same." I bared my teeth in a cold snarl.

"Ryan, I'm not going to hurt you." The man said to me, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, but I knew better, I knew he was just going to harm me just like Corvair Anderson did. That's all anyone seemed to want to do…Except my new family…They would never hurt me. "Please, Ryan, hear me out…." He continued, reaching out to me.

I drew back and turned to go but I felt a hand on my shoulder and a warmth spread through me that I'd never felt in my life. At least not since I was a very small child, two at the most and a plump face I hardly remember stared down at me smiling with unconditional love, no lust or hidden hatred, just warmth… I was wary, but my guard was dropping. I turned to him and reached into my coat pocket, pulling out a pistol. "You have five minutes to explain before I shoot your fucking brains out of your head."

"Fine….Ryan, listen closely, my name is Jack Kuhn, I used to be a doctor back in London, I helped the people of White Chapel for free while I served the rich for a lot of money. Your mother was the heiress to a banker's fortune, but….I was….framed for some rather brutal killings and your mother turned to prostitution to care for you."

"Liar! If she was an heiress why should she ever need to be a whore for money!?" I shrieked, finger clenching slightly on the trigger.

"She squandered her fortune on silly things while I was still around. She always was a bit vain and silly, your mother…" The man called Jack shook his head. " From what I gather, what Corvair did to you, he first did to your mother, prompting her suicide, Ryan….I've dreamed of the day I would finally see the man you'd become….I dreamed how proud I'd be, what a virtuous and respectable fellow you'd be…But Ryan…I must say, I'm appalled." Jack Kuhn looked crestfallen and almost downright miserable.

"Appalled!? Appalled!?! Why, that's a laugh! I've been appalled my whole life. Appalled of Corvair Anderson's advances, appalled of the streetwalking strumpets who walk this miserable fucking planet like the plague, appalled of everything…But mostly of myself." I spat, eyes bulging with rage. How dare he be appalled!? He didn't know the half of it.

"Ryan…I've killed too. But Ryan, I've repented and you can too." He came closer to me, arms outstretched towards me, motioning me into his arms. I refused the invitation.

"No….Not just yet…You'll answer me a few more questions or we'll see if Kuhn blood really does run through your veins." I sneered, knocking away his arms and aiming the gun again.

"Of course, my son, what would you like to know?" Jack asked, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. His feet probably hurt, but what did I care? If he truly was my father, he was never there for me, so why should I provide him comfort?

"Why did you not rescue me from Corvair Anderson if you knew what he was doing to me?" I snapped, eyes flashing with rage and a sudden deep and ugly hatred, blind fury so much so that I almost shot Jack right through the middle of his head.

"I only managed to escape when you turned fourteen and by then I'd already hurt you planning your revenge. Four years ago, Ryan, how fast time flies." Jack mused absently, looking up at the sky. "I allowed you your revenge rather than stepping in, but only because I was a killer myself then, although if I may say so, I killed far worthier candidates for death than the poor and lowly ones you kill."

"Oh? And so you killed high up on the food chain, the lions among men who will be missed by family and their adoring public. Corrupt as I'm sure they were, you being so pious and self-righteous, 'FATHER'…I'm sure you would have been caught had you not fled England." I smirked disdainfully at him; I'd bested him in my crimes, for my victims weren't missed so I had no chance of being caught.

"At least my victims deserved it, Ryan. Yours have done nothing to you." He shook his head sadly.

"I…." I began. I what? I wanted to be close to someone, close enough to touch but not to fuck? I wanted to make sure no one suffered what I had suffered from Corvair? Or maybe I was a man obsessed. These woman…I was obsessed with them, I didn't love them, didn't WANT them, didn't lust for them, I was obsessed with them, everything about them. Particularly how gracefully they fell from my arms when I stabbed them or how they fell from the window and landed like an angel, spread eagled with a halo of blood and the glistening broken glass shining from their bodies in the moonlight. "I…..I….they…..they just deserve it. They are scum." I finally said, after a moment of thinking. "Listen…Jack…In my travels I have met a holy man from the Far East and he once told me if you meet your father, kill your father. This is supposed to show me that I am free of all other rule and bound to nothing, only to live as I have been made to…I never thought I'd be able to make good on that, but as I have met my true father, I can now prove that this proverb was true. Your five minutes are up." And as I held up my pistol to Jack's head and squeezed the trigger, he made no protest, but simply fell to the ground, dead, with a hurt expression on his face that looked too much like Gareth when I had killed him. I shuddered a little. Would that expression haunt me until the day I died?


End file.
